Letters of a Stag and a Doe
by a-perfect-melody
Summary: 'He loves her and she loves him but love is never quite as simple as that.' A collection of letters exchanged between James and Lily, ranging from Hogwarts to the Order to their Deaths, showing their story in bite-sized moments. Can be read in any order.
1. Chapter 1

_Letters from a Stag and a Doe - Chapter 1: The War Which Swallows Us_

 _[Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and accept no credit towards it. I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling nor am I in any way affiliated with her.]_

 _Warnings: not really anything in this chapter apart from general angst and one use of bad language._

 _I'm sort of on a streak here churning out these jily stories so hopefully people are enjoying them :D_

 _Word Count (without A/N): 765_

 _Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

 _11th September 1981_

Dearest James,

I'm wondering now if you'll ever read this letter.

I can hear you, as I sit here writing; you're in the kitchen downstairs, clattering around, probably attempting to make casserole or spaghetti or any of those other dishes you think you're really good at when in actual fact, you should stick to dessert.

I can hear Harry too.

He's gurgling away happily, I bet you're tickling his chin and I bet you've forced him into that awful antler headband Sirius bought when he was born.

I'll see you in a minute or two, when I've finished drafting up this letter but, James, there are several things I need to tell you in case I don't make it and I need to tell you now.

I- God, it's so fucking hard to write this because it sounds like I'm trying to make up some soppy poetry but I'm not; these are just basic things that I need you to know and I need you to tell Harry everyday if I die in this war.

I love you.

That should be a given, seeing as we've together almost four years but, in the long run, that's nothing at all. My grandparents were married fifty-five years and I don't think I ever heard them say 'I love you' to each other so I'm saying it now so you know.

I've written it down and I'll write it a thousand times if I have to: Lily-used-to-be-Evans loves James-big-head-Potter.

Twelve year old me would certainly have got a good laugh out of reading that, I can tell you.

But it's true now, James, because I love you so much that sometimes I look at you and _I can't breathe_ but it's okay because that's what love is.

It's looking at each other and feeling the breath hitch in your throat because you need them to live for you, if not for anyone else, and it's that feeling when you know you're destined to be together and it sounds cheesy and cliché but it's true.

I'm babbling a little. You're calling my name up the stairs now and, if I close my eyes, I can stay in this moment; you, me, Harry, us, forever.

Nothing can freeze time, James, not even the magical, but in another universe, we'll survive, and, right now, that's good enough for me.

We were glorious once, you know, we were the kings and queens of our days at Hogwarts, thinking we were invincible with our stolen kisses and raised wands and love letters scribbled under desks but now I'm twenty one and we've been blessed with the most wonderful baby ever to crawl this earth and I'm thinking, sitting here now, that we're more glorious in this moment, because of Harry, than we've ever been before.

I need you to make me a promise, James, one that we've made each many times.

You need to promise me that if I don't survive the war, you'll go on, for Harry. I need you to promise that you won't retreat into yourself, won't leave our child to cope with the harsh realities of the world by himself, and I need you to tell him every minute of everyday that his mother loves him.

God, words can't even describe how much I love him and how much I wish that I could take this burden away from him and maybe some would say that it would've been better if we'd never fallen in love at all, but, you know what, I disagree.

If we'd never fallen in love, there wouldn't be an us, or a Harry, and I can already tell that the world would be a much worse place if our son was not in it.

He's going to do great things, one day, James, I'll tell you that.

He's going to live - even if we don't - and he's going to make mistakes and make a family of his own and, I know all mothers are proud of their children but I am immensely proud of ours and he hasn't even grown up yet.

And, if we had not fallen in love, I would be a miserable woman because, I tell you, there's not many things in this world that make me happier than waking up and seeing your smile, bright and glowing and perfect.

Thank you for the memories.

Thank you for the love.

All my love always,

Lily

* * *

 _Unanswered._

 _Found unopened in box under deceased (Lily Evans Potter)'s bed on 2nd November 1981 by Aurors searching the scene._

* * *

 _This is the first of what will eventually be a (hopefully!) large collection of letters between James and Lily. They will mostly follow canon - though I will put warnings if they don't - but they are not written in any particular order; ie: the next letter might be set during first year and the one after that might be a viewpoint from after they've died._

 _There isn't really going to be a regular updating schedule for this (sorry!), it'll just be whenever I feel like it._

 _Anyway, hopefully you enjoyed the first instalment. Leave a review and let me know! If you did like it, which I'm praying at least some of you did, remember to follow and favourite so you'll be notified when I next update!_

 _As always, thank you so much for reading! Xx_


	2. Chapter 2

**Letters from a Stag and a Doe - Chapter 2: It's Okay Not To Like Me**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and accept no credit towards it. I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling nor am I in any way affiliated with her.**

 **Word Count (without A/N): 793**

 **Warnings: one instance of bad language and not much else.**

 **So, second chapter in less than day - that must be a record for me!**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

 _23rd July 1976_

To Lily,

I'm not actually sure if this letter is going to get to you because I figured I'd just tell Godric (my owl) to take it to you and see if that's works.

So, if you're reading, er, hello.

I suppose either way you're not going to reply and that's probably my own fault so I reckon I might as well just be honest.

I've been an arse. Yeah, I'm aware of that.

I think your final words to me at the end of last term finally shocked me into reality. So, er, thanks, I guess.

Look, Evans, I'm not going to fuck around here; I like you, okay? I like you a lot and I have ever since third year when you spent all your pocket money on chocolate for Remus because he was feeling a little down.

I like you. It may even be love. Who knows? But we never will unless you decide to give me a chance.

And, Evans, it's okay not to like me back, you know?

If you can truly look me in the eyes and say that I could drop down dead and you wouldn't feel a thing, then fine. Put me out of my misery.

But I can see the way your eyes flicker when you talk to me and, trust me, Lily, I know when people are lying.

I know I can't make you change your mind. I know I've messed up and I'm an idiot and, if you were sensible, you would never speak to me again but you're the girl who spiked MacMillan's drink with chilli powder when he broke up with you so lecture me all you want, Evans, you're just as stupid as the rest of us sometimes.

But, if you could read this letter and not immediately tear it up and throw it in the bin, I'd be immensely grateful. Hey, if I could even get a small smile out of you, it would make my holidays.

I'll stay away from you next year, Evans, if that's what you want. No more James, no more Potter, no more me whispering in your ear. I'll do it if you're sure it'll make you happy. It sounds soppy but that's all I ever wanted to do.

I understand that you don't like me back and so I'll have to respect that. I'll learn to respect that, Lily, really, as long as you'll keep smiling for me, eh?

Here's my apology, Lily Evans. I've laid it bare and now it's up to you.

Please don't feel as though you have to reply.

Yours apologetically,

James Potter

* * *

 _2nd August 1976_

Dear Potter,

I can't tell you how long I've been sitting at my desk staring at this letter but it's been a good few days since it arrived.

I'm not really sure what to say.

To be honest, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that James Potter has apologised.

I've been doing some thinking over the past few weeks and I think I owe you an apology too.

I'm still mad at you so don't you dare think otherwise but you weren't the one who called me a you-know-what so I can't blame for that like I've been doing.

I'm sorry too.

God, we're both idiots, aren't we?

Stupid and reckless and ahead of our time. Not like that's always a bad thing.

I really hate how dejected you sounded in you letter. You will write back to me, won't you, just so I know you haven't completely lost all sense of who you used to be.

I'll tell you now, I'm rather glad you're turning over a new leaf but I hope you'll still retain your sense of humour. It's one of the only reasons I haven't murdered you in your sleep yet.

I'm not ready to forgive you entirely, James, you have to understand that.

You made the effort, sent the letter, and I appreciate that, I really do, but one page of writing does not make up for five years of emotional and physical abuse toward my ex best friend.

But I'm honestly surprised you even reached out to me in the first place so don't worry, Potter, I'm sure we'll find a way to co-exist in harmony this coming year.

Love from,

Evans x

PS: You are categorically _not_ allowed to tell anyone but, please don't stay away from me this term. I have a feeling things would get a little lonely if I didn't have you to make me laugh.

* * *

 _Found by Albus Dumbledore in deceased (James and Lily Potter)'s kitchen drawer, whilst searching for Order documents on the 5th November 1981._

 _Filed in the Ministry under 'Potter'._

* * *

 **Aaanndd there we have Chapter 2! Hopefully the next instalment will be fluffier so you lovely readers don't have to keep reading all this angst.**

 **I'd love to hear your thoughts/opinions on this chapter! Reviews would make my day!**

 **Thank you so much to Tina, Hufflepuff7, and RavenclawWeasel531 for reviewing last time. You guys are fantastic!**

 **As always, thank you so much for reading. Xx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Letters - Chapter 3: Fancy a Snog?**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and accept no credit towards it. I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling nor am I in any way affiliated with her.**

 **Warnings for instances of bad language and brief, passing mentions of sex.**

 **Word Count (without A/N): 625**

 **Arguing jily fluff for you all :D**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _12th February 1976, 2:05PM_

Dear Evans,

Fancy a snog behind the Herbology sheds after school?

James x

PS: I've written you a letter because apparently you girls love receiving handwritten notes and stuff. You're welcome, by the way.

* * *

 _12th February 1976, 2:10PM_

Dear Potter,

You can't tell my tone because I'm writing it down but imagine this entire letter being spoken through gritted teeth because that is my mood right now.

No, I do not fancy a snog with you after school. End of story.

Find someone else to kiss, like the never ending list of all the girls you say are queuing up to date you. I'm sure you'll have no end of replacements to make up for my unwillingness to engage in activity with your tongue :)

Yours in irritancy,

Lily

PS: Yes, us girls love handwritten notes, but sweet handwritten notes not, 'do you want to screw later'. Just a tip. Jesus.

* * *

 _12th February 1976, 2:12PM_

Dear Evans/Red/Lily/Ginger,

Well, I don't know what you have against my tongue but there's no need to sound so disgusted. I am actually a pretty good kisser according to multiple girls, thank you very much.

Why don't you want to snog me? We can call it a kiss if it would make you feel more comfortable.

 _And_ , I did not ask you if you wanted to screw - I am far too respectable for that. ;)

Yours in eagerness,

James x

PS: Please stop glaring at me. You're making Pete feel uncomfortable.

* * *

 _12th February 1976, 2:18PM_

Potter,

For Heaven's sake, stop writing to me during class. I think McGonagall is starting to get on to us and if she reads these out to the class, I am _going to die_.

Is bragging about the amount of girls you've fucked supposed to make me jealous? Really, it just makes me wonder how many STDs you have.

Call it what you want, James, I'm not kissing you.

Kindly leave me alone.

Yours in anger,

Lily

PS: I will stop scowling if you'll actually start doing some work.

* * *

 _12th February 1976, 2:23PM_

Dear Evans,

Merlin, your last letter was a little harsh. I was only asking. A simple yes or no would've also worked instead of insulting me.

This isn't how this whole flirting thing works, you know. I can show you how it's supposed to be done:

Me: You look absolutely stunning today, did you do something new to your hair?

You: Oh, why thank you for noticing, James, yes I did, and may I add that your eyes are looking particularly gorgeous today?

Me: You're too kind, Evans, really.

You: *blushes*

Me: Do you want to kiss?

You: Yes, absolutely. Come here.

Me: With pleasure

 _See_?

Yours,

James x

* * *

 _12th February 1976, 2:27PM_

POTTER,

STOP SENDING ME LETTERS. I'M TRYING TO WORK.

Also, you're just being pedantic now.

Also, also, that was the most awkward flirting encounter I've ever read. Nobody speaks that.

Also, also, also, we are not flirting. This, no, not flirting. This is called arguing.

Yours sincerely,

Lily

PS: Why has Sirius got quills in his hair?

* * *

 _12th February 1976, 2:30PM_

Dear Evans,

It is an experiment. Him and Pete are trying to see how many they can fit in his hair.

Also, I don't know what pedantic means but, unless it means drop dead gorgeous, I'm definitely not it.

So, about that snog-

Shit, shit, shit, McGonagall has seen, she's coming over, fuck we're dead, well it was nice knowing you, Evans-

* * *

 _Confiscated by Minerva McGonagall on 12th February 1976 at 2:31PM off an agitated and red-faced James Potter._

 _Rediscovered five years later on 2nd November 1981 by aforementioned McGonagall as she cleared out her office._

* * *

 **Soooo, slightly different from my first two which were as angsty as you like. But fluff is good, yes?**

 **Please leave me a review and let me now what you thought. Your feedback is so important to me and reviews make my day!**

 **Thank you to Niha and RavenclawWeasel531 who reviewed last chapter. You are wonderful!**

 **As always, thank you for reading! Xx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Letters from a Stag and a Doe - Chapter 4: Drunk Texting at Two**

 **This chapter is dedicated to all the lovely people who has reviewed this story. You're all fantastic!**

 **Before someone says this, yes I know that texting is not the same as sending letters but it is basically the modern equivalent of it and I thought that it might make some people smile. So, enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and accept no credit towards it. I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling nor am I in any way affiliated with her.**

 **Word Count (without this incredibly long A/N - sorry!): 698**

 **Warnings for language (Lily gets the teensiest bit annoyed in this chapter) and (brief) mentions of drugs/alcohol**

 **I have to apologise in advance for the awful grammar about to follow. Unfortunately, Lily, James, and Sirius are not the best texters.**

 **There is literally not plot to this particular fic. At all. But it's fluffy and sweet and hopefully you'll all enjoy it!**

* * *

12th July 2018...

 **(1:54am) i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _oi evans. u up?_

 **(1:57am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _it's two in the morning_

 **(1:57am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _but yes. obviously_

 **(1:59am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _obviously_

 **(2:00am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _so any reason for this immensely stimulating conversation you just instigated_

 **(2:01am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _i love it when you talk long words to me_

 **(2:03am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _are you drunk_

 **(2:04am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _or high? i honestly can't tell_

 **(2:06am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _i am offended u would think that. no alcohol has passed my lips since 10:21 this evening_

 **(2:07am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _wow four hours sober. must be a record for u_

 **(2:08am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _your mean_

 **(2:10am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _hate to be that person but it's *you're_

 **(2:10am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _also, that's what you get for drunk texting your girlfriend at two in the morning_

 **(2:12am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _my girlfriend?_

 **(2:13am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _dear lord..._

 **(2:15am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _really? i thought u h8ed m3?_

 **(2:18am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _well rn it's very hard to like you. Also, your texting is fucking appalling_

 **(2:19am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _we've been dating for three years now remember_

 **(2:19am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _look back at our last texts_

 **(2:22am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _whoops. lol_

 **(2:23am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _haha. maybe there was something in that brownie pete gave me_

 **(2:23am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _YOU ATE SOMETHING PETER PETTIGREW GAVE YOU_

 **(2:24am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _LIKE LITERALLY CHEWED AND SWALLOWED IT_

 **(2:24am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _omfg i have an idiot for a boyfriend_

 **(2:31am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _...James?_

 **(2:37am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _u okay? Xxx_

 **(2:45am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _can u answer pls? You're starting to freak me out a bit love_

 **(2:48am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _POTTER_

 **(2:51am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _oh god what have you done?_

 **(2:53am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _if u don't reply in ten minutes I'm calling the police_

 **(3:02am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _I'm serious love you're worrying me slightly_

 **(3:02am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _no I'm Sirius_

 **(3:02am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _what?_

 **(3:03am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _hiii Lils_

 **(3:03am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _BLACK?!_

 **(3:04am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _you rang?_

 **(3:04am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _wheres James? Is he ok?_

 **(3:04am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _..._

 **(3:05am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _SIRIUS_

 **(3:05am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _well it depends on what your definition of ok is_

 **(3:06am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _that's it I'm never letting you four out alone again_

 **(3:06am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _you're a danger to society_

 **(3:08am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _why thank you_

 **(3:09am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _SIRIUS_

 **(3:09am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _WHERE IS JAMES?_

 **(3:11am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _alright lils Jesus keep your hair on_

 **(3:12am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _sorry I'm just panicking a little_

 **(3:14am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _also why do you have James' phone?_

 **(3:17am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _ah_

 **(3:17am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:,**

 _well_

 **(3:17am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _James is currently under the impression that he is a pirate_

 **(3:18am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _ffs_

 **(3:19am)** **don't_call_me_evans** :

 _I'm afraid to ask for more details_

 **(3:20am) i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james sent a picture at 3:20am

 **(3:22am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _tf is he doing?_

 **(3:24am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _is that a parrot?_

 **(3:24am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _well not an actual real one_

 **(3:24am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _but yes_

 **(3:25am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _where'd he get the sword from?_

 **(3:26am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _the fancy costume shop. It's not real, lils, don't worry_

 **(3:27am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james sent a video at 3:27

 **(3:28am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _is he...head butting the wall?_

 **(3:29am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _yeah apparently he's a deer now_

 **(3:30am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _oh wait correction sorry apparently it's a stag_

 **(3:30am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _oh well silly us for not figuring that out_

 **(3:31am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _tell him he looks like a prat for me_

 **(3:32am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _that's what I'm here for_

 **(3:33am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _also because if I text u on james' phone I waste his credit not mine_

 **(3:33am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _sly git_

 **(3:34am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _handsome sly git_

 **(3:34am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _that's subjective_

 **(3:35am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _anyway. Is James' okay?_

 **(3:37am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _yeah. Don't panic lils. I'll look after him. Get some sleep_

 **(3:38am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _you sure? You don't want me to drive over to get u lot?_

 **(3:39am) i_** **solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _nah we'll be fine_

 **(3:39am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _god you're a good friend Sirius Black_

 **(3:40am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _as are you lily evans ;)_

 **(3:42am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _I'll see u and remus (and Pete if he's coherent) tomorrow_

 _give james my love xx_

 **(3:45am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _he sends his love back_

 **(3:48am)** **i_solemnly_swear_i_am_james:**

 _he also wants to know if you'll go and live in the woods with him and be his doe queen_

 **(3:51am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _r u serious?_

 **(3:51am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _no wait don't answer that_

 **(3:52am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _we were that fucking close to finishing on a romantic note_

 **(3:52am)** **don't_call_me_evans:**

 _tell him he's officially and formally banned from sharing my fluffy blanket_

don't_call_me_evans has gone offline

* * *

 **How was it? The horrible grammar wasn't too hard to read, was it?**

 **Reviews make my day if you would like to leave one!**

 **As always, thank you so much for reading. I hope you all have an amazing day/night! Xx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Letters - Chapter 5: The Winter Dance**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and accept no credit towards it. I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling nor am I in any way affiliated with her.**

 **The usual warnings for language apply.**

 **More fluff this time! My plans for the next chapter happen to be angsty at the moment so hopefully that's also something you'll all enjoy!**

 **Word Count (without A/N): 433**

 **Prompts below!**

* * *

 _15th December 1977, 3:25pm_

Dear James,

Just letting you know that McGonagall wants us to dance the opening number at the Winter Ball next week. Apparently, it's tradition for the two heads (?)

Umm, anyway, I'll meet you in the Transfiguration classroom at eight o clock tonight. It's all ours for practice.

(Which, trust me, we're going to need a lot of.)

Love from,

Lily x

* * *

 _15th December 1977, 4:15pm_

Dear Evans,

You don't sound too upset about this arrangement. Does this mean you're finally warming up to me? ;)

Also, I don't know why you directed that question at me since I have no clue. If I say it _isn't_ tradition, are you still going to show up?

Again, by the mentions of practice, I don't know wether you're insinuating that I can't dance or you can't but, either way, you really need to be clearer in your letters. It's bloody confusing.

I'm _joking_ , obviously.

See you later,

Potter x

* * *

 _15th December 1977, 4:30pm_

Dear James,

Well, it's not like I have a choice in the matter, so it doesn't really matter what you or I say; I still have to dance with you.

Anyway, who knows, it might be fun.

And, James, I got taught how to properly write a letter in Year 6 so kindly fuck off.

Love,

Lily x

* * *

 _15th December 1977, 5:15pm_

Dear Evans,

Wear something pretty. ;)

James x

* * *

 _15th December 1977, 10:20pm_

Dear Evans,

Holy fuck.

I know we said goodbye no less than three minutes ago but I need to tell you how breathtaking you looked this evening because, when I saw you, I was so utterly in awe, I sort of just started stammering awkwardly.

I had a plan to tell you how lovely you looked but then you showed up in _that dress_ and all rational thought went completely out the window.

I never realised how fantastic you looked in blue.

And _that smile_. Merlin, Evans, you know you could get away with murder with that smile?

Wanna go to the Winter Ball with me?

James x

* * *

 _15th December 1977, 10:25pm_

Dear James,

Potter, you ridiculously handsome idiot. I _have_ to go to the dance with you, weren't you listening?

Love,

Lily x

PS: though if I actually did have a choice, I would pick you a hundred times over.

* * *

 _Found on the 27th June 1978, down the back of the sofa in the Gryffindor common room. Stored in McGonagall's as a tribute._

 _Given to Remus John Lupin, on the 3rd November 1981, following the tragedy._

* * *

 **Written for Hogwarts Back to School Event: write about someone getting into a romantic relationship/situation at school.**

 **/**

 **I'm actually really surprised at the rate at which these drabbles are being written. Usually, I'm as slow as you like.**

 **Hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to leave a review; I'd love to hear from you all!**

 **Thank you again to all the beautiful people who have reviewed/followed/or favourited this story. It means a lot to me!**

 **Thank you all for reading! Xx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Letters - Chapter 6: Apart in Death**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and accept no credit towards it. I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling nor am I in any way affiliated with her.**

 **Word Count (without A/N): 1442**

 **Warnings for language and a shameful amount of angst.**

 **Well, I promised angst and here it is. Hope it's okay!**

* * *

 _1st December 1981, 2:20pm_

My Dearest Lily,

There are a hundred different ways I've tried to start this letter.

I've tried being funny, being witty, being formal, and it all feels wrong because nothing I say is going to bring you back.

You're not even going to read this letter.

I'm on my fourth sheet of paper because I'm an idiot and I can't stop crying and staining the words blurry with my tears.

So many people keep telling me not to cry.

I'd like to think you wouldn't be one of them. I'd like to think that if you were here, you'd roll your eyes and pretend to be annoyed but still put your arm around me and ask what's wrong.

Nobody does that here, Lil.

Because here, alone in this sterile, white hospital, everybody knows what happened.

Everybody knows that you died.

 _(4:00pm)_

That's the first time I've ever said that, you know.

Do you?

All my life I've been brought up to believe in magic and ghosts and impossible things that to the beautiful mind of an eleven year you seemed unimaginable and illogical but _what if there is no afterlife?_

That's what I'm terrified of, Lily.

I'm terrified that my last memory of you is going to be your body lying still on the floor next to...next to _that thing_ , and our son weeping and wailing for a mother whose eyes can no longer see him.

The only way I've been coping this past month is imagining you in this unreachable life after death, hidden and out of sight but _safe_.

And that's all I want.

I want you to be safe, to feel as though you can stop running and being scared all the time and I am so sorry you have to do this alone.

But what if there is nothing? What if when we die, we fall into an endless, dreamless, inky black sleep?

What if that means Harry can never see his mother again?

 _(6:30pm)_

Sorry.

Sorry.

I think it's probably a good thing you're never going to read this letter as I'd have probably made you cry by now.

Oh Merlin, I'm no good at this, Lily.

You used to be infuriatingly good at writing long letters on Valentine's Day, full of soppy spiel and clever metaphors with your curly handwriting looping across the page and the way you wrote your name _Lily_ at the bottom.

Every little thing you ever did, the way you bit your lip when you were annoyed, the French plaits you used to wear on Saturdays, every tiny thing is burned so brightly into my memory, I think that your smile is forever going to be the only thing I can see when I close my eyes.

People say that as time goes on, you forget the dead ones you loved.

I would be hard pressed to ever forget you, Lily Evans.

 _(6:45)_

I really wish that this letter was more upbeat than it's come out. I had plans, you know, big plans to joke and tease and make fun of the way you could never properly say the word 'quaffle' but that sounds weird and out of place and almost unfair, knowing that you're never going to be able to retaliate back.

" _Li-ly_ ," I'd say, drawing about the syllables to be irritating and you'll huff and sigh but smile anyway.

Your name always was my favourite word in the whole world.

Actually, no. My favourite word in the entire world was my own name, when you said it, your voice alive and wonderful and ringing in my ears.

Alive and wonderful.

Oh Merlin, Lily, what I wouldn't give for you to be alive right now.

To walk into our house and see you reading upside down on the sofa, watch you prance around with my glasses on your nose because you want to know if they make you look sexy, and just to be able to know that I haven't failed you as a husband.

I made you a promise that rainy day in April, when I put a ring on your finger, that I would always protect you and, well, I guess I've messed that up too.

I didn't think that night and, I suppose neither of us did, I tried to stop him, Lily, I really did but he blasted me against the wall and there was so much blood, so much blood, and I couldn't see, couldn't feel, couldn't speak and it tears me apart to know I heard your dying screams whilst lying immobilised on the floor.

I fell unconscious about a minute before you passed and then there's just a huge chunk of darkness until, Sirius tells me, I woke up half an hour later and somehow stumbled upstairs and that's where he found me, Harry pressed to my chest and my hand clutched tightly around your fingers.

Harry's okay. I've tried not to mention him yet because nobody really knows what's going on at the moment and I don't want to panic you.

He's almost entirely unharmed and yesterday I even heard him giggling so maybe there is still light in this world after all.

There's a scar on his forehead, Lils, and none of us are really quite sure what it means. I think Dumbledore knows; he's acting strangely around us; but whatever it is, he certainly hasn't told me.

I don't think it's anything to be worried about. I'm _praying_ it's nothing to be worried about because Merlin knows that loosing your mother at one is punishment enough for any child and he doesn't deserve to suffer through anymore.

He misses you, you know.

He cries more than he did before and I can tell that I'm a poor replacement for the mother that used to hold him close during the night.

Don't give me that look, Lily. Reassure me as much as you want, it was you he wanted when the sun went down. There's something magical about listening to your mother singing you to sleep.

I'm an awful singer so I can't really help him there.

But I can help him remember you.

I promise you now, Lily, I may have let you down the night I lost you but I will never, _ever_ , let our son forget just how much you loved him. How much _I_ love him.

I can only hope that that in some ways makes up for not being able to save you.

The Healers here at St. Mungos keep telling me that it's not my fault, if I could've somehow helped, I would've been killed too but it is my fault, it is, _it is_ , because it was me who told Dumbledore to make that fucking bastard Peter our secret keeper.

He's in Azkaban now, Lily, awaiting trial. They want me to testify but they won't let me do it whilst he's in the room because the last time we saw each other, right before he was arrested, I almost kicked his stupid fucking head in.

You never liked violence, Lils, I know, but he deserved it because he betrayed us, he betrayed us all, and he told that... _that thing_ where to find us.

Good riddance is all I can say. I hope they let the dementors have him.

Sorry.

I didn't mean to sound so broken and enraged during this letter; the whole point is to make me feel better, to allow me to make peace with my nightmares and the beautiful, gorgeous woman that is you.

If I think back really hard, I can still remember the day we met. Sad, huh?

You were wearing your new robes already and your hair was long and loose down your back and you smiled shyly at me, the only real smile you'd give me until our sixth year.

I didn't like you at first, Evans, I have to admit. I thought you were annoying and prissy and way too friendly with Snape and it wasn't until third year when you spent your entire month's savings on chocolate for Remus because he was feeling down that I knew I'd spend the rest of my life being completely and utterly infatuated by you.

I love you.

God, I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you, and, Merlin, you deserve so much more than you had and I hope you know just how widely you were adored.

Keep smiling for me in Heaven, eh, Lils?

Yours in Life and Death,

James

* * *

 _Kept in shoebox under aforementioned's (James Potter's) bed until the seventeenth birthday of his only son, Harry James Potter._

* * *

 **I said it was angsty ¯\\_(** **ツ** **)_/¯**

 **Anyway, hopefully you enjoyed it. If you did, leaving a review would really make my day.**

 **Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, especially El and RavenclawWeasel531 for reviewing the previous chapter!**

 **Quick Note: so, obviously, this particular letter is an AU in which, instead of being hit with the killing curse, James is struck with some other, less serious, spell which causes him to fall unconscious. Lily still sacrifices herself for her son and Harry still becomes the Boy Who Lived. Hope this clears any confusion up :D**

 **As always, thank you all so much for reading! Xx**


	7. Chapter 7: Dear Harry

**Letters - Chapter 7: Dear Harry**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and accept no credit towards it. I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling nor am I in any way affiliated with her.**

 **Warnings for language and a whole lot of angst. I'm serious. This letter is about as fluffy as one of Hagrid's rock cakes.**

 **Word Count (without my rambling A/N that doesn't seem to stop): 2,644**

 **I really really wanted to have this letter up in time for Halloween but I was a lot busier than I thought and this is my first opportunity to post this. I apologise for the delay in uploading new chapters. I should have another one up by the end of the week to make up for not updating for almost a month.**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _7th September, 1981_

Dear Harry,

Your mum is making me write this letter while she's cooking tea.

To be more specific, we've both been thinking about writing these letters for a while but it's your mum who's finally got the paper out of the desk and told me that I need to write mine and stop moping.

Here goes.

Fingers crossed it you'll never have to read it.

I can't really explain it any other way than this; if you're reading this letter, it means I'm dead.

Bloody hell, that sounds depressing. If you are reading this; I hope you're surrounded by friends and family and that this isn't too hard of a blow.

It was your mum's idea, really.

You probably don't understand why mummy and daddy are forever looking over their shoulders or why sometimes we scream in our sleep and cry in the bathroom during the day but we're in hiding, as I write this, in hiding in a tiny cottage in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere to keep us all safe.

Namely you.

I don't know if you really understand yet how much we love you.

We would do anything, me and your mum, _anything_ to see that you're kept out of harm's way but the war is catching up with us, _He's_ catching up with us, and I think we both agree that we're running out of time.

Not you, though.

You're going to live a long and happy life if it's the last thing either of us do and that's where these letters come in.

If we don't make it, if you have to grow up in a world where I don't wake you up in the morning with my hideous singing and where Mum doesn't kiss you goodnight every evening before bed, then I want you to have this letter as a reminder.

As proof, as evidence, that we existed, that we were here, we loved you, that everything is going to be okay.

If you're ever having a bad day, I want you to take this letter out and be reminded of how bad your dad's jokes were and how your mum loved to say ' _James_!" in her exasperated voice.

Actually, on second thoughts, ask Sirius. Or Remus. Or even Pete; they've all got good stories to tell about us.

So, here we are.

I didn't really want to write this letter, mate, if I'm being honest, because writing it makes it final, makes the possibility of you having to grow up an orphan a reality but now at least I have the knowledge that you'll have something to remember your parents by.

And, because I know your mum and I know she'll go on and on about how much we love you and how proud she is and yet won't actually say anything about us, I'm going to do it for her.

I've been in love with your mum since I was thirteen years old.

She, Lily, is the most beautiful woman I've ever met. She has this habit of chewing her bottom lip when she's annoyed and the first time she smiled at me, we were sixteen and I practically melted into the ground.

She's smart and sarcastic and kind and got top grades in all her subjects at school with the exception of Transfiguration which she was shite at but, it doesn't matter because she excels at Potions and tutored me in sixth year when I was falling behind.

Her favourite colour is green, the colour of your eyes, and she cried the day you were born.

She wants to become a full time auror when this is all over; apparently we both have a 'saving people problem'. They can call it what they want but it's our 'saving people problem' that stops people being killed.

She is one the bravest people I've ever met. I've seen her fight face-to-face with You-Know-Who himself when the Prewetts were murdered and she is terrifyingly spectacular.

The devil's food, according to her, is treacle tart which is completely outrageous because it's my favourite dessert - and you wonder why it took us so long to get together.

She does love chocolate frogs though (who doesn't?), so I guess I can forgive her.

She never laughs at anyone for their dreams. Pete told her, very seriously, when we were fifteen, that he wanted to be a pirate when he was older and instead of rolling around laughing like the rest of us knobheads were, she patted his shoulder and told him that at least some of us had ambition.

I can't help feeling that she was glaring at me whilst she said that.

She hated me right up until the Easter of sixth year when we got paired together in Potions and had to learn to live with each other.

Our first kiss was behind the Herbology sheds on the 17th October 1977 at 11:24pm where after we promptly got yelled at by McGonagall for staying out irresponsibly late. I got a month's worth of detention but, bloody hell, was it worth it.

You probably don't want to hear about our love life and I'm sure, if you're thirteen years old and we're alive, reading this will make you squirm. But trust me, Harry, I've lost my parents and, once they're gone, everything about them becomes beautiful.

Maybe not all of my time at Hogwarts. I'm not exactly proud of how I acted back then.

But you're going to be better than me; you may look like me but you have your mum's spirit and that's more important than anything.

I reckon in any other circumstances I should be giving you some fatherly advice but, I mean, you're my firstborn and I'm an only child; I've never done this before and I don't know what to say without mucking everything up.

I've always been very good at that, actually.

In all honesty, the only thing I can think to say to you right now is that if you don't make it on to the Quidditch team, I am going to _kill_ the captain of the team.

Maybe that joke was a bit too premature.

Fuck.

Please don't tell your mum how much swearing there is in this letter; she'd go mental at me and I'd quite like to see my 22nd birthday.

Oh for Merlin's sake, there I go again with the death jokes. I don't actually mean them; maybe something about constantly being on the run does something morbid to your mind.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I love you, your mum loves you, and even if we don't get to see you grow up-

I really don't want to finish that sentence.

Even if we don't get to see you grow up, we'll always be with you; not even a hurricane could separate me from you; I would die so that you might wake up in a world when the night sky doesn't flash green and cold laughter doesn't haunt anyone's nightmares.

I love you so much. I really want you to have that in writing.

You'll be okay, mate. I know it.

Love,

Prongs

Potter

James

 _Your dad x_

* * *

 _7th September, 1981_

My Darling Harry,

How are you, sweetie?

As I'm writing this, the last time I saw you was two minutes ago when I put you to bed but for you, reading this letter, ten or eleven years might have passed since you last saw my face and I'm sure it's comforting to have something in your mother's handwriting.

I bet you'll look more and more like your dad when you're older; you're already squinting so Heaven knows you'll probably need glasses too (you can blame dad's genes for that) but you do have my eyes and so hopefully that'll prevent you from being called 'James' too much.

I'm enclosing a photo of us for you; it was taken right before we finished Hogwarts in '78 and your dad's pulling a silly face and I'm laughing and we were eighteen, no idea that you would come and bless us just a few years later.

I'd like to think you can take it out and look at it sometimes when you're feeling sad and maybe it might make you feel a bit better. Because if I can't be there when you're upset and wipe your tears and tell you everything's going to be okay, it offers only the slightest reassurance that you'll have our photo to take with you wherever you go and then it'll be like a tiny part of us is always with you.

Reading through your dad's letter (yes, James, I read yours), I can see that while he spouted a load of old soppy (but true!) crap about me, he 'accidentally' forgot to talk about himself.

Which is strange in itself, really, because your dad's always loved being the centre of attention.

I'm going to set the record straight because if we're not around to do it for you, I'm supposing you'll have heard a lot of things about our love story and ourselves but I want you to have the truth because you're our son and you deserve it.

I didn't hate your father until second year. I didn't like him until sixth and I didn't love him until seventh.

I've been in love with him four years now and still kissing him was one of the best mistakes I've ever made.

He loves to play quidditch. Honestly, Harry, you'd better hope you grow up to like it because he's going to be dragging you to a lot of matches once you're old enough. Once this is all over.

I love it too but I've always preferred watching than playing it. Football was always more my thing when I was younger but I haven't played in years. I'll have to take you out when you're older.

Your dad, James, is incredibly attractive (we'd better hope he doesn't read this; he loves himself as it is. I'm _joking_ , James, jeez!) and he has this thing of running his hand through his hair which used to drive me crazy but now is one of my favourite things about him.

He can't whistle properly which really annoys him so he likes to click his fingers once every ten minutes, just to prove he can.

In his letter, he put in a lot of things about how 'terrifying spectacular' I am whilst fighting, but he shouldn't put himself down because he came top in our Order training class and I'm not the only one who's fought You-Know-Who and come out alive.

He can eat treacle tart until the cows come home which both impresses and disgusts me; especially when he runs his sticky fingers through my hair.

We were both in Gryffindor at school, James somehow forgot to mention that, but if you aren't, darling, it's not the end of the world. We don't care, really, as long as you're still alive and well and happy.

Your dad's favourite colour is gold which he says is because it's a Gryffindor colour but I know for a fact that it's because it was the colour of my dress the night we first kissed.

Our wedding took place of the 5th April 1979 and it was half a year after that that I found out I was pregnant with you.

Your dad cried when you were born too as did Sirius and Remus. Pete and Marlene had to step outside because they were weeping so much. Honestly, Harry, you could've sunk the bloody Titanic with all of the sobbing we were doing but you were our miracle, our light in the darkness so can you really blame us?

If you are reading this, it should be your eleventh birthday and you should have just gotten your Hogwarts letter. Congratulations, darling! And Happy happy happy happy Birthday and many many many more returns.

For reference for you, your dad was born on the 27th March 1960 and I am a few months older (and I never let him forget it!) born on the 30th January that same year.

There are not enough words in the world to make up for ten years of lost time but I love you and, don't worry, if the afterlife exists, we'll have a mountain of presents waiting when you get there.

Don't come too soon though, darling, okay? I know life will be hard, especially for you, my beautiful, strong boy, but I'm your mother and apparently nagging is a permanent job requirement so you are not allowed to give up.

Okay? Please, Harry, no matter how harsh the world is, how broken you are inside, things will get better, things _always_ get better and you deserve such a long life, sweetheart, such a long and spectacular one.

I'm crying now. Sorry, darling. I didn't mean to upset you on your birthday - it's your eleventh! That's a big one! You'll be getting your Hogwarts letter - Merlin knows you've shown enough accidental magic already to warrant one. I suppose it'll be easier for you, having grown up around magic (Sirius will have made sure of that) but on my eleventh, my mum screamed, my dad choked on his tea, your aunt Petunia started crying, and I just sat there, staring at Professor McGonagall, thinking that being a witch meant pumpkins and Halloween and cackling laughter.

For the record, it doesn't, sweetheart. You're probably laughing at me now but go ahead, good. I'd love to hear what your laugh sounds like now you're all grown up.

I wish I could picture what you'll be doing when you get this letter. You'll most likely be with Sirius (he was named guardian in our will) and is he still cracking stupid jokes? Does he still have his long hair or did he cut it off to raise a child? Trust me, Harry, as a baby, you loved nothing more than tugging on the ends of my hair. I'm seriously considering getting it cut.

As for _your_ hair, you've been cursed and or blessed with the Potter locks. It's dark and thick and beautiful but, take it from your dad, it never, ever lies flat. Bad luck, sweetheart.

This letter's getting rather long now and I'm afraid that if I keep writing for much longer, the words on the page are going to dissolve into rivulets of ink under my tears.

I don't want to ruin your birthday by making you cry so maybe ignore that last paragraph.

But, sweetheart, before I finish, I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you, how incredibly proud me and your dad are of you. I know what'll you'll have to go through when you're older if nobody kills You-Know-Who before you grow up and if I could turn back time and take this burden away from you, I would, a thousand times I would but I can't, and it pains me to think that the only thing I can do is hug you tight.

I would die for you, as would your dad, we would kill for you but if you have to go through life without us by your side, I can only hope you find friends and make a family of your own.

There are some very special souls out there, darling. I hope you find them.

Love always,

Lily Evans (Potter)

 _Mum xx_

* * *

 _Found in deceased's (Lily Evans Potter's) bedside drawer by Remus John Lupin on the 1st November 1981, following the tragedy._

 _Forwarded to Mr and Mrs Dursley where said letters were not seen for seventeen years._

 _Presented (rather guiltily) to Harry James Potter on his eighteenth birthday as he came to clear out the rest of his things_ _._

* * *

 **AAH OKAY so I originally had Vernon burning these letters in that little footnote at the end but then I changed it to this because I thought that Harry not receiving these letters would be extremely cruel and getting them later is better than not getting them at all, right?**

 **Also, I don't think I could've done that to all you lovely readers after having just been through Halloween. But, idk, let me know if you would've preferred an angstier ending where Harry never gets his letters.**

 **I want to thank anyone who has ever read/reviewed this collection so far; it really means a lot to me.**

 **Reviews would make my day (*blinks innocently*)**

 **As always, thank you so much for reading this chapter and I hope you all have a fantastic day/night! Xx**


	8. Chapter 8: Not Enough Words

_Letters of a Stag and a Doe, Chapter 8: Not Enough Words_

 _Note: this particular au involves James being the one to sacrifice himself instead of Lily. Basically the same story as canon except James is with Harry and dies and Lily is merely injured in the events that take place. Harry still becomes The Boy Who Lived. Everything else happens as normal._

 _WC (without a/n): 1,409_

 _Warnings for language and general angst_

 _without further ado..._

* * *

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and accept no credit towards it. I am not J.K. Rowling nor am I in any way affiliated with her._

* * *

 _14th November 1981,_

Dearest Jamie,

Everything is quieter without you.

There's a certain eeriness that seems to follow me about, an awful silence that I can't shake that reeks of you and all the unspoken words we never said.

There's just nothing; black, suffocating nothing surrounding me, surrounding everybody, choking and strangling and tightening it's fingers around my neck.

I can't stand being by myself anymore.

And every time I look in the mirror, I imagine all the times I'd see you standing behind me trying to make me jump and now that there's nothing but the drab wall of the hospital, something just feels broken and wrong, like nails scratching down a chalkboard.

It feels like a flame has suddenly been extinguished which is strange because it's always been me everybody's likened to fire.

Sirius can barely look at anyone. He just sits next to me and holds my hand and is silent.

I don't know what to say to him, Jamie, for the first time in my life I am completely speechless.

Remus is doing better, he's spoken with Dumbledore more times than I have and he seems to be holding it together better than the rest of us.

I admire him, really I do because I don't think I could do it.

I miss you.

God, I really fucking miss you.

Darling, it sounds like I'm overreacting and I know this is sort of thing we used to scoff at when we were children but I feel like I'm drowning. _I can't breathe_.

 _When we were children_. Merlin. We still _are_ kids. Kid soldiers fighting a war in which the bad were the good and the good were the bad all along.

I don't want to talk about Pettigrew, about he betrayed us, how _he was our friend_. He was a traitor and, as far as I'm concerned, me and Harry are having nothing more to do with him. He's no longer that same chubby eleven year old who gave everybody Bertie Bott's whenever they asked. That boy disappeared long ago.

They say that when somebody dies, you start to love all the things you found irritating about them before.

I want so much to say it's not true but it is.

Your jokes pissed me off and usually they weren't funny in the slightest but I'd give almost anything to hear you tell one again because it'd mean you were alive and safe and happy.

And that'd mean the world to me.

But, all the things that I loved about you; the way you smiled when I woke you up in the mornings, the sound of your laugh mixing with Harry's as you played with him in the living room, how you could never completely stop holding my hand when things were dark; I now love a hundred times more and you don't know how hard I'm wishing that you'll walk in right now with a ridiculous grin on your face and squeeze my hand and never let go.

I love you.

I'll say it a hundred more times if I have to, I'll write it out and scream it from the rooftops and hope that somewhere, wherever you are, you can hear me.

The idea - the _dream_ \- that there's something out there after we die, a magical paradise where happiness is eternal and wishes last longer than midnight is a whimsical one but it's one I'm clinging to because I don't think I could live if I knew I was never going to get to hear your voice again.

It's been two weeks.

You've been gone two fucking weeks and already it's like you never existed. I can't remember how it felt to have your arms around me at night or the mind numbing dizziness I used to get every time you kissed me.

I can't remember how the pancakes you made every Saturday tasted and I can't remember how it felt to not be constantly crushed under this circlet of guilt.

Because if I'd just _been_ there, if I'd been upstairs with Harry instead, if I hadn't let him throw me against the wall like a _fucking rag doll_ \- it might've been you here instead of me and, then, my love, you would be able to have the long life you deserve.

And, Jamie, somewhere, there's something _broken_ inside of me, like a jigsaw puzzle with the middle piece missing, like a book with the last page torn out.

It's a horrible feeling, grief.

I've known loss, Jamie, we both have - Marlene, my parents, your mum and dad, Gideon and Fabian, Dorcas - but this is different. It's like I'm _burning_. Like I'm splintering into a million pieces because I just can't hold it together anymore.

But I have to. I know I have to because you wouldn't want me to sit and waste away and, if there's just one more thing I can for you, darling, then I want to make you proud.

Because I let you down, I couldn't save you and now you're _gone_.

I haven't even said it out loud yet and I don't want to because then I can keep deluding myself that I'm trapped in a horrible nightmare and that eventually you'll shake me awake and we can go back to pretending that we live in a fairytale where nothing ever goes wrong.

I used to love fairytales when I was younger, you know? I used to dream of adventure like theirs, with princes and magic and daring rescues but safe and home before tea. That's what they never tell you about battle.

There's no stopping point, it just continues, like a bulldozer, and it doesn't care that you haven't slept in two weeks or that your best friend was just murdered in front of your eyes. It carries on, long into the night, and it's only hope and luck and optimism that keeps you breathing until the next day.

The war's over now, at least sort of. _He's_ dead, now, James, he can't hurt you or me or Harry anymore and everybody is glad, so, so glad. There's been partying in the streets for days now and I'm not sure anyone except the St Mungo's staff have really gone into work since. I'm not fooling myself; this war is far from finished and I know that, but this is our version of the Christmas Day truce and we're all treasuring it.

I really hope you're treasuring your peace wherever you are, darling.

And then there's Harry. Beautiful, brave Harry, our Harry, your Harry. Your son. He reminds me so much of you, you know. I said this a hundred times whilst we still had each other but now I can see you in him in so many other ways; in his laugh, his blink, in his smile.

He'll look just like you when he's older, I know it.

And he's safe, Jamie, take reassurance in that as we all do.

He's safe and he's happy and I think really that's all we can ask for. He's about the only person Sirius'll talk to at the moment and I think it's good for both of them.

There is one thing, darling. You sacrificed yourself for our son, you brave, wonderful man, and in doing so, _He_ was defeated. But, he left behind a mark on Harry, a lightning shaped scar, and nobody's really entirely sure what it means. Dumbledore went as pale as a ghost when he first saw it and immediately started muttering to himself and strode out. I haven't seen him since and they won't let me leave the hospital yet but Remus promises he's going to talk to him soon.

I'm not really sure why I brought it up, to be honest. I don't want to worry you so try not to think about it too much. We'll sort it out. Goodness knows you've done enough already.

I'm rambling now (the thoughts of a grieving woman for you) because there are not nearly enough words (or time) to say all the things I want to say to you so just know this:

I love you. I love you so much.

I've lived a thousand lifetimes with you, James, and, though it'll never be enough for me, we made good our time here, didn't we?

Choosing you always will be best thing I've ever done.

All my love always,

Lily x

* * *

 _Prompts:_

 _Counselling, Task 2: write about a loss (of a person, job, pet, etc)_

* * *

 _Well, you got a fluffy jily fic out of me the other day, so here's the angsty one to balance that._

 _I rewrote this letter about three times because I didn't want it sounding to similar to James' version but let me know if it still does._

 _Leaving a review (especially a nice one!) would really make my day._

 _As always, thank you so much to anyone and everyone for reading! Xx_


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